I Call Out Amidst of All the Fallout
by Taya24
Summary: "It had been one month since the eclipse.  One month since Cas had declared himself God and demanded their allegiance."  Dean/Castiel.  WIP.  Comments make me smile.
1. In the Beginning

**Title**: I Call Out Amidst of All the Fallout (Chapter 1/?)

**Author**: Taya

**Pairings/Characters**: Eventual Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby, Balthazar

**Spoilers**: Up to 6.22. Some plot points are based loosely on future spoilers and comments made by the cast.

**Warnings**: No beta, so all mistakes are my own. Creative use of commas.

**Rating: **R (just to be safe)

**Word Count**: WIP (3100 for Chapter 1)

**Author's Note**: The title is from the Steve Carlson song "Love You or Leave You." Jensen wrote the line, "In spite of it all I call out amidst of all the fallout." Steve said it's his favorite line in the song. It's mine as well.

**Summary**: _"It had been one month since the eclipse. One month since Cas had declared himself God and demanded their allegiance."_

**Chapter One – In the Beginning**

Dean stood silently at the kitchen window, nursing his beer and staring absently out at the mountains of cars that littered Bobby Singer's salvage yard.

It had been one month since the eclipse.

One month since Cas had declared himself God and demanded their allegiance.

Sam and Bobby had turned to Dean for guidance in that moment, but he had remained silent, pretty sure that "Go fuck yourself" wasn't exactly what the new deity wanted to hear.

Cas had simply sighed and smiled patiently, saying that he would give them some time to think it over, before disappearing.

When they had made it back outside, they found the Impala inexplicably perfectly restored to her original beauty. Not a word was spoken as they made their way back to Bobby's, but really, what could any of them say?

That had been one month ago.

Since then, things had been relatively quiet on the home front. A vengeful spirit here. A couple of vamps there. Nothing serious. Just enough to keep them busy. And nothing so far away that they couldn't return to Bobby's in-between.

The only downside was that Sam and Bobby constantly wanted to discuss their "Cas problem." They wanted to plot and plan and take action, whereas Dean, for really the first time in his life, was content to just sit back and wait.

What was the point in going after Cas before he even did something to prove he _needed _going after?

That's when Dean heard raised voices coming from the next room. He walked quietly to the doorway and peered around the corner. Sam and Bobby had their backs to him, and were pouring over something on Bobby's desk.

"Seriously, Bobby," Sam said, shaking his head. "I mean, you've had some crazy ideas—"

"Yeah, and your plan's so much better," Bobby snapped. "Oh wait…you don't have one."

Sam was quiet for a moment, staring down at the desk. "Dean's not gonna like it."

"Yeah, well…Dean might not get a say-so."

"A say-so in what?"

Sam and Bobby started guiltily as they turned to face Dean. None of them spoke as Dean approached the desk.

"What _is _that?" he asked, pointing to the piece of paper the two hunters had been studying so intently.

Sam shared a glance with Bobby, before sighing and turning to his brother. "It's the summoning spell that you used to call Tessa."

Dean's brow wrinkled at that. "Okay. So, why do we need a reaper?"

"The same reason that you needed one last time," said Sam. When Dean just raised his eyebrows at him, he went on. "To talk to Death."

Dean was still confused. He looked back and forth between Bobby and Sam.

"Okay, guys," he began, rubbing his forehead, "one more time. Like I'm five."

Bobby heaved a dramatic sigh. "When you talked to Death in Chicago a couple of years ago, you said that he mentioned somethin'. Somethin' important," Bobby began. "He said that he had the power to reap God."

The silence that followed was the loudest that Dean had ever heard, as he absorbed exactly what it was that Bobby was saying.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Dean growled dangerously, glaring at Bobby.

"Told ya," Sam whispered.

"When the hell did _this _get put on the table?"

"Just now!" roared Bobby, stepping closer to Dean. "Not all of us are content to just sit around twidlin' our thumbs!"

"Damn it, Bobby, he hasn't even done anything yet!"

"_Hasn't done anything yet?_" Bobby yelled, stepping even closer to Dean. "Well, I'll just be sure to tell that to my friend who he kidnapped and tortured! Oh, wait a second…"

"Okay," said Sam, stepping between them. "Guys, this isn't helping."

Bobby and Dean continued to stare daggers at one another.

"_Bobby,_" Sam said in warning.

Bobby finally stepped back and took a seat on his desk, fuming silently. Sam turned back to his brother.

"Now look, Dean, no one's going to kill Cas," he said. "Not _yet,_" he added, before Bobby could open his mouth to protest. "But we do need to have a plan in place. Okay? Just in case Cas decides to go all Old Testament."

Dean seemed to calm a little.

"Look, I want to save Cas too," Sam went on. "But, if we can't, then we have to be prepared to do what we have to do."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, as he turned away. "Alright," he said. "Yeah, that makes sense."

He stood quietly again, staring out the window. He knew that Sam was right. That he was only doing what his hunter instincts told him to do. Dean knew that if he wasn't so emotionally involved, he'd be doing the same thing. Planning for every possible situation. But he couldn't. Because even though he didn't know what was going to happen next, he did know one thing for sure.

He couldn't kill Cas. Even after everything that's happened. There was no way.

"Dean?" Sam said, interrupting his thoughts. "Do you _have _a plan? To get Cas back?"

Dean was silent for another minute. "Not yet," he said. "But I'll think of something."

_I have to._

* * *

><p>A few hours later, Dean was asleep on the couch, with Bobby in his room, and Sam in the bedroom upstairs. He was suddenly jarred awake by the flutter of wings and his feet being unceremoniously pushed off the arm of the couch.<p>

"What the-?" he asked groggily, sitting straight up.

Balthazar was there, collapsing onto the couch next to Dean.

He looked exhausted.

"Dude, what the hell? We all thought you were dead," said Dean, shifting over to make more room.

"Yes, well, I was. For a time," Balthazar replied, resting his head on the back of the couch and closing his eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Well…before Cassie hoovered up all of those Purgatory souls, he stabbed yours truly in the back. Literally."

Dean looked him up and down. "So how are you here?"

Balthazar opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. "He said that he brought me back to show that he was a forgiving God. A God who gave second chances." Balthazar closed his eyes again. "He's made me his second-in-command."

"Wow."

"Indeed."

Dean took a moment to look at Balthazar. The angel seemed more forlorn than Dean had ever seen him.

"No offense, dude," he said, "but you look like shit."

Balthazar snorted. "You try playing Trotsky to Cas's Lenin. Not a lot of time for beauty rest."

Silence settled over them for a minute, before Dean asked the question that he had been dying and dreading to have answered.

"So how _are _things under the new regime?"

Balthazar sighed and turned his body toward Dean, one arm slung over the back of the couch.

"Well, I will say that you monkeys certainly got the non-fuzzy end of this particular lollipop."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed the distinct lack of creepy-crawlies?"

"That was Cas?"

Balthazar nodded. "He sent a garrison down to take out some of the Big Kahunas of Monsterland. Then the rest just decided to lay low, leaving just enough pieces on the board for you and Sam to keep playing the game."

Dean took a minute to absorb this information. "So a lack of all things supernatural? That ain't such a bad thing."

"No," agreed Balthazar. "Nor, I imagine, are the lack of hurricanes, tsunamis, tornadoes, and plague. Like I said, non-fuzzy end of the lollipop."

It was Dean's turn to rest his head on the back of the couch and stare at the ceiling. "So what about upstairs?"

Balthazar was silent for so long that Dean turned his head to look at him. The angel's eyes had gone dark and he looked more serious than Dean had ever seen him.

"His first order of business was to make an example of all those angels who had sided with Raphael during the war, to show that rebellion was unacceptable."

"He punished 'em?" Dean asked.

"Killed them."

Dean's eyes widened. "Jesus."

Balthazar nodded. "Then he put the rest of the angels through…reconditioning."

"Is that as ominous as it sounds?"

Balthazar nodded again. "He then put out the blanket order to all angels that we were not to come to Earth unless specifically ordered to do so, and under no circumstances whatsoever were we to interact with humans."

Dean eyed Balthazar curiously. "Why are you here then?" he asked. "Somehow I doubt the big man gave you shore-leave to come down and spill all of his secrets."

"What can I say?" Balthazar replied, smirking. "I'm a rebel."

They once again lapsed into silence, as the situation they were currently in weighed heavily upon them.

How had things gone so far off the rails?

"This is all your fault you know?" Balthazar said casually.

"What?" Dean asked indignantly. "How the hell do you figure that?"

"Oh, please. This is all about you. Everything that he does always comes back to you."

"Man, I can't wait to hear this."

"Every time that Cas has rebelled against Heaven or gone against the grain it has been because of you. Either because you asked him to or it was some attempt by him to keep you safe." Balthazar went on, his voice rising. "And the one time that he asks you to return the favor, you hang him out to dry."

"What the hell was I supposed to do?" Dean asked loudly. "Work with Crowley? Help him pop Purgatory?"

"_Maybe _if you had stood beside Cas from the start, none of this would have happened."

Dean snorted. "Are you calling me 'black,' Pot? You're not really one to be giving me lessons on loyalty."

Balthazar took a breath and looked at the floor. "It's not the same," he said quietly.

"And how's that?" Dean asked. "Why is it any different with me?"

Balthazar just laughed, and looked back up to meet Dean's eyes. "Boy, if you have to ask me that then I'm afraid we're all in a lot of trouble."

Before Dean could ask what he meant, Balthazar continued.

"Castiel's in trouble," he said. "The power of all those souls is starting to take its toll on him. We don't have a whole lot of time before he goes completely nuclear."

"Wow, way to bury the lead," said Dean. "Okay, so how do we diffuse him?"

"I have no idea," Balthazar replied, "but I know someone who might."

"Who?" asked Dean.

"God," answered Balthazar. "The original."

"Great," Dean replied sarcastically. "Except no one has a clue where the bastard is or how to find him."

"Well, that may not be entirely true," said Balthazar. "See, I went to speak with Joshua. Now, while he said that he hasn't been able to reach God, he did point me in the direction of someone he thinks might be able to."

Dean sighed. "And who's that?"

Balthazar stared at him pointedly.

"What? Me?" he asked.

"Did you think I popped in for the stimulating conversation?" Dean stared at him blankly, mouth hanging open. "Exactly."

"You think that _I _have someway to phone God?"

"No, _I _don't," Balthazar replied, "but Joshua does. He says that you have something that we don't."

"What?" asked Dean.

"Not a clue," said Balthazar, getting to his feet. "But if you don't figure it out, and soon, Cassie's going to go Chernobyl, taking Heaven and a sizeable portion of the planet along with him."

Dean just continued to stare at the angel.

"So, good luck," said Balthazar, cheerily, and then he vanished, leaving Dean alone in the darkness.

* * *

><p>After Balthazar left, Dean grabbed a beer and went outside to sit on the steps of the porch. He had been so content to just sit back and wait. Wait for Cas to make the first move. Wait for a sign that he should act. But after everything Balthazar had told him, he knew that he couldn't sit around any longer. He just wished he knew what his next play was.<p>

"Hey," Sam said behind him, making him jump. Dean hadn't even heard him come out.

"Hey," Dean said, as Sam took a seat beside him, his own beer in hand. "What are you doing up?"

Sam shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

"Are you okay?" Dean asked quickly.

The first days after Sam's wall had crashed had been terrifying for Dean. As soon as they'd made it back to Bobby's, Sam had locked himself in the upstairs bedroom, only coming out to use the restroom down the hall and then quickly returning. Dean had brought him meals three times a day which, thankfully, were always eaten. Sometimes he would find Sam sobbing into his pillow. Other times he would be staring blankly out the window. Dean had been a wreck.

Finally, a week after they'd gotten back, Sam came downstairs looking perfectly healthy and refusing to talk about it.

Sam smiled down at his beer. Y'know," he said, "you ask me that about every ten minutes."

"Yeah," said Dean, "and I'm gonna keep asking until I'm satisfied with the answer."

Sam just continued smiling as he looked over at his brother, before throwing a hand up in the air. "Of course I'm not okay," he said. "But I will be."

Dean nodded, and let the silence overtake them for a minute.

"Is it bad?" Dean finally asked.

Sam took a breath. "Not as bad as it was," he said. "That first week was the worst. I just had all these horrible memories flooding into my mind, and I didn't know what was real or what was…now. I was confused and sick and…" he trailed off, a faraway look in his eyes. He was silent for a moment, and then he smiled. "You know what the funny thing about it is?"

Dean looked at his brother. "There's a funny thing?"

Sam took a sip from his beer, and then continued to stare at the bottle. "The memories from Hell aren't even the worst part," he said. "I mean, they're bad, but it's like…like they happened to somebody else. I can remember it, but I can't really _feel _it." Sam laughed. "If that makes any sense."

Dean didn't say anything. He just continued to watch his brother.

"I don't know. Maybe Cas had something to do with it," Sam continued. "The memories of that year with Samuel are a lot worse."

"_Sam_," Dean said in warning.

"Dean, don't-"

"No," Dean interrupted. "Sam, you have no reason to feel guilty about any of that stuff."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "So you don't feel guilty about the stuff you did in the Pit?"

Dean looked away as he let that one sink in. He couldn't really argue with that.

Sam took a deep breath. "What are you doing up anyway?" he asked, bumping Dean's knee with his own.

Dean seized on the change of subject gratefully.

"Balthazar was here."

"What?" Sam said. "I thought he was dead."

"Yeah, well, he probably will be if Cas finds out about his little field trip."

Dean then told his brother everything that Balthazar had said about Castiel's new strategy in Heaven, how the souls were starting to wear him down, and how he thinks God is the only one who can save him.

"And Joshua seems to think that I'm the only one who can get in touch with him," Dean finished.

"Why's he think that?" asked Sam.

"I don't know," said Dean. "He says I've got something that none of them do, but I have no idea what he's talking about. Do you?"

Sam looked out across the yard for a minute, then back at his brother. "Yeah, actually," he said, standing up, "I think I do. I'll be right back."

He returned a few minutes later, holding something in his hand. Something Dean never expected to see again.

His necklace.

"I thought that thing was gone."

"Yeah, well…I thought you might want it back someday," Sam said, handing the amulet to his brother.

Dean looked at it skeptically. "You really think _this _is what Joshua was talking about?"

"Maybe," Sam said, shrugging.

"Cas spent the better part of a year trying to find God with this thing, and he got bupkiss."

"Maybe you're special," Sam said, smirking and causing his brother to snort derisively. "At the very least it's a starting point, which is something we didn't have before."

"I suppose," Dean conceded, still staring at the amulet.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then," said Sam, turning to go inside.

"You want me to try _now_?" Dean asked, turning to look at his brother.

"No time like the present," Sam said, opening the door and heading inside. "Wake me if God drops by," he called over his shoulder.

Dean just chuckled and shook his head. "Man, our lives are weird," he said to himself. He stared quietly out across the yard for a few minutes, finishing his beer.

"What the hell," he sighed, setting down his empty bottle and heading out into the salvage yard. He walked around until he found the place where, years ago, he had sworn an oath to Cas to serve and follow God.

Dean put the necklace over his head, and grasped the amulet tightly in his fist.

"Here goes nothin'."

He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and prayed.

"God," Dean began, feeling awkward. "Hi…uh…I know I haven't really talked to you all that much, and when I have I really haven't had anything too nice to say…but I really need your help now…please."

Dean cracked an eye open and looked around the empty yard.

"Y'know what? Screw this noise," he said, letting the amulet drop back to his chest. Dean took a deep breath, and started shouting.

"Alright, listen up you dick! You better get your ass down here now because you fucking owe me! Big time! Not just for the crazy, fucked-up hand that you dealt me, but for doing _your _job for you and saving the friggin' planet! And if _you _don't think you owe me anything, fine, but you sure as hell owe Cas! So get the fuck down here now you lazy, arrogant, self-righteous, son of a bitch!"

For a moment, the only sound in the yard was that of Dean's labored breathing.

And then…

"Hey Dean."

TBC


	2. Like a Holy Rolling Stone

**Title**: I Call Out Amidst of All the Fallout (Chapter 2/?)

**Author**: Taya

**Pairings/Characters**: Eventual Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby, Balthazar

**Spoilers**: Up to 6.22. Some plot points are based loosely on future spoilers and comments made by the cast.

**Warnings**: No beta, so all mistakes are my own. Creative use of commas.

**Rating: **R (just to be safe)

**Word Count**: WIP (3700 for this part)

**Author's Note**: The title is from the Steve Carlson song "Love You or Leave You." Jensen wrote the line, "In spite of it all I call out amidst of all the fallout." Steve said it's his favorite line in the song. It's mine as well.

**Summary: **Dean has a one-on-one with God and a heart-to-heart with Sam, as they all try to figure out what to do about their "Cas Problem."

**Chapter Two: Like a Holy Rolling Stone**

_For a moment the only sound in the yard was that of Dean's labored breathing._

_And then…_

_"Hey Dean."  
><em>

* * *

><p>Dean spun around quickly, eyes going wide as he looked upon the new arrival.<p>

"Chuck?"

"Hi," Chuck said, giving Dean a little wave.

"What are…" Dean began, before his brain finally caught up. "Oh my God."

"Hey, right in one," Chuck said, smiling.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Dean replied, dumbfounded. "_You're _God?"

Chuck nodded. "Yep."

"For how long?"

"Gosh," sighed Chuck, scratching his head. "I don't really know exactly. I mean, it's been a really long-"

"No," Dean interrupted, "how long have you been _Chuck_?"

"Oh," Chuck said. "About forty years now."

Dean just stared. "You mean you've been here this entire time?"

"Well, technically, yeah," said Chuck, rubbing the back of his neck. "But if it makes you feel any better, I didn't _know_ I was God the whole time."

Dean just shook his head, as he began pacing around the salvage yard. This was crazy. This didn't make any sense. Was he really standing here in the middle of Bobby's yard, in the early morning hours, having a conversation with God? He needed to sit down.

"I need to sit down," Dean said out loud. He took a seat on the tailgate of an old rusted Ford, and buried his face in his hands.

After a few minutes, he looked back up at Chuck-God-Jesus, this was nuts.

"Okay," Dean said, taking a calming breath. "I need you to explain this to me. From the beginning."

Chuck took a deep breath and took a few steps closer to Dean. "Well, in the beginning I created the Heavens and the Earth."

"Don't be cute," Dean snapped angrily.

"I'm trying to tell you how I got here, Dean," Chuck said patiently. "Before I brought this world into existence, I had to know how I was going to end it."

"Why?" Dean asked.

"Because I knew that I couldn't do this job forever," answered Chuck. "So I wrote an end to the story. The world would end with Michael and Lucifer taking you and your brother as their vessels, and destroying the planet as they waged war against each other. At least, that's how it was _supposed_ to happen," finished Chuck, looking slightly irritated.

"That still doesn't explain how you became Chuck," said Dean.

"I was born like this," Chuck began. "About forty years ago I decided that I wanted to experience the apocalypse alongside humanity—to show my solidarity with them."

Dean snorted, and Chuck shot him a glare.

"So I fell."

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. "Fell?" he asked. "You mean like Anna fell?"

Chuck nodded. "I made sure everything was in order upstairs, and then I fell. I was born nine months later as Chuck Shurley. I had no memory of being God, no clue that I'd ever been anything more than human…until I started having those visions.

"They were strange. Even after I'd learned that I was seeing the future, I still couldn't shake this weird feeling of déjà vu. Like I'd had these visions before." Chuck sighed. "It wasn't until the end that I realized the truth. When I had a vision of you and Sam stopping the apocalypse. The wrongness of it all was like a shock to my system. Suddenly I was me again."

Chuck finished, staring at Dean expectantly.

"So, what?" Dean asked angrily. "Things didn't go the way you wanted, so you just decide to check out?"

Chuck shrugged. "Pretty much. Yeah."

"But the world's still here! And it's a mess!" Dean said indignantly, jumping down off the truck. "Your kids went to war with each other. They tried to restart Armageddon."

"Hey, don't drop this turd in my lap, man," said Chuck. "This is your doing. I had the end of the story all written out. _You're_ the one who decided to burn the pages. _You're_ the one who ushered in the era of free will, for humans _and_ angels, and _this_ is what they did with it."

They both stared at one another angrily. Chuck was the first to look away.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but I'm done. Retired."

Dean was silent for another moment, as he looked out towards the horizon. The stars were growing fainter as the night slowly gave way to morning.

"Those souls are going to destroy Cas," Dean said quietly. "And everything else along with him."

Chuck just nodded. "And the world will end just like it was supposed to."

Dean ran a hand down his face, as he struggled to fight back tears.

"So you're not going to save Cas?"

"I _already _saved Cas," Chuck said irritably. "I brought him back after Lucifer killed him. I brought him back for _you_. And you _chose_ to go to Lisa's. And Cas _chose_ to return to Heaven." Chuck spread his arms out wide. "This is what you wanted, Dean. No destiny. No fate. No plan. Nothing but free will and choice."

"So _choose _to help me then," Dean said desperately, stepping closer to Chuck. "Choose to save Cas."

Chuck just stared at Dean sadly.

"Look," Dean went on, "I really don't give a crap what you do after this. If you wanna drink margaritas on a beach somewhere until the end of time, that's your business. But I am begging you, _please_, save Cas."

Chuck continued to stare at Dean, and Dean held onto his gaze like a lifeline, afraid to look away for fear of drowning.

Chuck tilted his head and looked into his eyes like he was searching for something, and in that moment he reminded Dean so much of Cas that he felt his heart clench painfully.

Finally, Chuck looked away. "There's nothing I can do for Castiel," he said. "The only person who can help him now is you."

"_How_?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Well, this is going to sound really cheesy, even for me, but…with the power of love."

Dean stared at him blankly. "What does that mean?"

Chuck sighed. "No one can force Castiel to give up those souls. He has to choose it. And you're the only person who'd be able to convince him to do that."

"Why?"

"Because, Dean, you are the thing that Castiel loves most in the world."

Dean felt a sudden tightening in his chest, and had to look away from Chuck. He wanted to deny it. Say that there was no way—someone who loved him would not be capable of causing him so much pain.

But somewhere behind the wall that Dean had erected to place anything having to do with "feelings", he knew that it was true. Every lingering glance, every unspoken word, every unfulfilled desire really came down to two simple truths: Cas loved Dean and Dean loved Cas.

He took a calming breath, and turned back to face Chuck.

"What do I have to do?" he asked.

"You need to convince him to fall." Dean's eyes grew wide at that. "By casting out his grace, Castiel will cast out the souls as well."

"So, what? He'll be born as somebody else and not remember anything?" Dean asked, fearfully. _He won't remember me?_

"No," said Chuck, shaking his head. "Castiel already has a vessel. He'll fall to Earth in that form and his memories will be intact."

Dean nodded, as he resumed his pacing.

"Okay," said Dean. "Okay. So, I just have to convince him to fall? That seems pretty straightforward."

"It's not," said Chuck, causing Dean to stop his pacing. "Even if you _can _convince him to fall, there will be consequences."

"What kind of consequences?"

"It won't just be Castiel's grace that falls to Earth, but all of those souls as well."

"Isn't that kinda the point?" asked Dean.

"You don't understand. By removing those souls from Purgatory, Castiel sort of…reanimated them."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked warily.

"It means that when those souls reach Earth, all one would need to do is find a vessel to take possession of, and _boom_—a monster is reborn. And not just one—millions."

Dean just stared at him, horrified.

"Is he worth it, Dean?" Chuck asked, as Dean turned away, fighting to keep down the bile in his stomach. "Is he worth unleashing millions of monsters upon humanity? You know better than anyone the type of pain that will cause. The families that will be ripped apart."

"Okay," Dean choked out, tears in his eyes. He took a moment to calm himself down. "But if I don't do anything, there's not gonna be a world here at all," he said desperately. "Isn't a planet with monsters better than no planet at all?"

"Is it?" Chuck asked quietly.

Dean turned away, wiping tears from his face. How the hell was he supposed to make a decision like that? A decision that, one way or another, was going to affect every other person on the planet.

Dean took a deep breath, and turned back around to face Chuck…

…only to find himself alone.

* * *

><p>Later that morning, after the sun had risen and the shadows receded, Dean relayed to Sam and Bobby everything that had happened.<p>

After some initial disbelief and several interruptions—_"Chuck? Are you kidding?"_—he finally managed to tell them the entire story.

After Dean finished, the three of them sat in silence before Bobby finally spoke up.

"Well now we gotta kill him."

"_Bobby_," Sam said quietly, as Dean just shook his head and looked out the living room window.

"What? We can't just let him explode the whole planet and we sure as hell can't sit back and watch while millions of monsters get reborn," Bobby said angrily. "If you idjits got another option, I'd love to hear it."

Sam was quiet, but Dean knew is gaze was turned on him. He couldn't bring himself to look away from the window and into those sad, puppy dog eyes.

"Dean?" Sam asked quietly. "What do you want to do?"

What did he want to do? He wanted to get stinkin' drunk and not think about monsters or angels or love or the end of the world. That's what he wanted to do. He wanted to drink until he stopped feeling like Atlas, with the weight of the whole freakin' world on his shoulders.

So that's what he did.

Despite it being only ten-thirty in the morning, Dean left Sam and Bobby sitting there, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and walked out the back door.

He drank all morning and well into the afternoon. Sam and Bobby did a good job leaving him to his own devices—or vices, in this case; and whenever he did come across them conspiring quietly in a corner, he was simply too drunk to care.

Dean had started drinking to clear his head, but if anything, his mind was now on overdrive and his thoughts all the more jumbled. He tried very hard to keep from thinking about a certain angel-turned-God. He really did.

Which is why, when Sam found him later that evening, sprawled across the couch and peeling the label from his empty bottle, he most definitely was _not_ thinking about blue eyes, soft hands, and sex hair. Nope.

Boobs.

He was thinkin' about boobs.

"What?"

Dean turned his head to look at his brother. Sam had taken a seat in the armchair opposite the couch, a beer of his own resting on his knee.

"Hmm?"

"Did you just say 'boobs'?"

"No," Dean said defensively, turning his attention back to his bottle.

Sam just laughed at him.

"Hey Sammy," Dean slurred, after a few minutes of silence. "Can I ask you a homothetical question?"

Sam choked on his beer, causing Dean to glance over at him.

"Uh…" Sam began. "A _hypo_thetical question?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. _That's what he'd said._

"Sure," smirked Sam, leaning back in his seat.

Dean continued to pick at the label on his bottle as he spoke. "Do you think it's possible for one dude to be attracted to another dude without being gay?"

Sam just stared at his brother.

"I mean attracted sexually," clarified Dean, turning to look at Sam. "Like, he wants to-"

"Yeah yeah yeah. I got it," interrupted Sam, quickly. "Uh…" He took a deep breath. Were they really having this conversation?

Dean just looked at him expectantly.

Okay, I guess they were.

"Well," Sam began, scooting forward in his seat, "in most cases, I would say no. But…if, say, we were talking about you and Cas…homothetically, of course," added Sam, as Dean nodded, "…then I would say yes. It's possible."

Dean just stared at his brother.

"How's that different?" he asked.

Sam just laughed. "Are you kidding? How _isn't_ it different?"

Dean sighed softly, and went back to playing with his label. Several minutes passed where they simply sat there quietly.

"We almost slept together once," whispered Dean.

"Oh yeah?" Sam smirked. "When?" He was mentally preparing to store this information away for future use—one of the privileges of being a little brother.

"Right after Stull," Dean answered.

The smile vanished quickly from Sam's face. Dean went on.

"We stayed in that cemetery all day. They couldn't get me to move. Or maybe they didn't bother tryin', I don't remember. I just know it was late in the afternoon when we finally got on the road. I don't know where I was going, I just drove. Cas was with me.

"And then he wasn't. I thought that was it. I just kept driving. Only stopped twice—once for gas, once for liquor."

Dean paused for a minute, a sad smile on his face.

"I drove until I couldn't see straight," he continued. "Then I had to stop."

* * *

><p><em>Dean swerved the Impala through the motel parking lot, eventually bringing it to a stop across two parking spaces. Bobby parked smoothly beside him and hopped out of his truck, watching as Dean seemed to be struggling with the door handle.<em>

_He eventually made it out of the car, finishing the can of beer he'd been drinking and tossing it aside._

_Bobby gave him a disapproving look, but Dean just stared back, daring him to say anything. Bobby sighed and turned away._

_"I'll get us a room."_

_"Two rooms," said Dean, his voice rough from nonuse._

_Bobby stopped and turned back around to face him._

_"Two rooms," Dean repeated._

_Bobby was silent for a moment, as he looked at Dean._

_"I don't think you should be alone tonight, son," he said softly._

_Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Bobby," he said, irritated. "I'm too exhausted to kill myself tonight, alright?"_

_"Well you'll forgive me if that doesn't exactly put my mind at ease."_

_They both fell silent once more, as Bobby stared at Dean and Dean stared at the ground._

_"I just don't want anyone else sleeping in Sam's bed yet, okay?" Dean said, his voice barely more than a whisper. His throat was sore, his chest ached, and his eyes stung with the tears he'd been holding back all day._ _He just wanted to drink some more and pass out._

_"Two rooms then," Bobby said quietly, as he walked away._

_An hour later and sleep had still failed to find Dean. He lay fully clothed on top of the comforter, an empty bottle of Jack held loosely in his hand. The alcohol had been meant to act as a distraction—a wall—something behind which to place all thoughts of Sam. It wasn't working. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was his baby brother falling into Hell._

_So now, here he was in a drunken stupor, staring up at the ceiling and trying to see images in the water stains._

_That's when he heard it. A sound he never thought that he would hear again. Dean let his head fall to the left. Cas was standing in front of the window, his silhouette framed by the neon light outside._

_"I thought you left," Dean said gruffly._

_Cas shook his head as he approached the foot of the bed._

_"I had some things to take care of first," he said quietly, looking down at Dean._

_The sadness in the angel's eyes was more than he could bear, and he looked away. Dean was about to ask Cas why he was here, when he was suddenly distracted by the angel reaching down to untie his boot._

_The question got lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth, as he became preoccupied with Castiel's long fingers undoing his laces._

_"You need to sleep," Cas explained. He lifted Dean's leg from the bed and gently removed the boot from his foot, before letting it fall to the floor. He held Dean's foot for a moment longer, before setting it back on the bed and turning his attention to the other boot._

_Dean had found his distraction._

_As he watched the angel's hands, his mind was bombarded with images. Every thought and feeling he had struggled to suppress over the past two years came flooding in. And Dean let them. _

_He thought about how it would feel to have those hands on other parts of his body—_every _part of his body. _

_Dean looked at Cas's mouth as he felt himself begin to grow hard in his jeans. He imagined the feel of those lips around his cock._

_Dean's breathing sped up as Cas moved closer. Having finished removing his boots, Cas now took the empty bottle from Dean's limp hand and set in on the bedside table._

_When he turned back towards the bed, he reached his hand towards Dean's forehead. And that's when Dean acted._

_Grabbing his wrist, Dean pulled Cas down on top of him and then quickly rolled them over so that he had the angel pinned beneath him. Dean buried his face in the crook of Castiel's neck and breathed in the delicious scent. He could feel his dick hard against Cas's thigh and he ground his hips down sharply, making himself moan. This is exactly what he needed._

_"Oh God, Cas," Dean groaned, as he began thrusting rigorously against the angel. "_Fuck._"_

_"Dean?"_

_He froze._

_Cas hadn't spoken his name in lust or love or encouragement. It was the confused question of a creature who wasn't exactly sure what was going on._

_Dean pulled back enough to look at him. His eyes were wide and questioning, and Dean was reminded forcibly of just who it was that he had trapped beneath him-who it was that he had wanted to fuck until he couldn't feel anything._

_Dean felt disgusted with himself._

_"Shit," he said, his voice cracking. He pushed himself fiercely from the bed, and hurried to the bathroom. He barely got the lights on before he was vomiting into the sink. His hands gripped the counter tightly, as he emptied the contents of his stomach._

_When Dean had finished his throat was raw, and when he looked up at his reflection he saw that his face was wet with the tears he'd been holding back all day._

_He stared for a moment longer, before striking out with his right hand and smashing the mirror to pieces. The sound of breaking glass echoed around the tiny bathroom as Dean crumbled to the floor. His back against the wall, he put his head in his hands and cried._

_He was vaguely aware of Castiel coming in and sitting on the floor beside him. The angel didn't say anything. He just sat there as Dean sobbed, their shoulders pressed firmly together, grounding them both._

_Later, after Dean's tears had subsided and his breathing slowed, Cas took his bruised and bleeding hand in both of his own. It took only one touch for the blood to fade and the bones to mend, but Cas continued to hold Dean's hand in his lap, his thumb drawing soothing circles upon his skin._

_Dean didn't know how long they sat like that. It may have been minutes. It may have been hours. _

_When Cas finally spoke, his voice was quiet. He sounded hesitant and, there was no other word for it, broken. _

_"Do you want me to stay?" he asked, his voice cracking. "I can stay."_

_Dean closed his eyes tight against the fresh tears that threatened to fall. Of course he wanted Cas to stay. He wanted to get on his knees and _beg _him to. He wanted to tell him that he couldn't do this alone. He was too broken. Too weak. Yes, he wanted to ask Cas to stay. Which is why he couldn't._

_Dean just shook his head, as he focused on the feel of his hand in Castiel's._

_"That's probably not a good idea," Dean said quietly. "You deserve to go home, Cas. I mean, it's my fault you had to leave in the first place." Dean felt his chest clench painfully. "I'm poison, Cas," he choked out. "Everybody I love dies. So you should just get as far away from me as possible."_

_Dean pulled his hand out of Cas's grip and stood up, leaving the bathroom. A few moments later he heard a flutter of wings, and he knew that Castiel was gone._

_Dean didn't look back._

* * *

><p>When Dean finished, Sam just stared at him sadly. He didn't know what to say.<p>

Thankfully he was spared having to say anything at all when his brother turned to look at him.

Dean's eyes were clouded with tears, but when he spoke his voice was steady.

"I can't kill him, Sammy. I can't do it."

Sam nodded. "I know," he said. "It's okay, Dean. We'll save him."

Dean turned to look out the window at the night sky. "And the souls?"

Sam followed his brother's gaze. He tried to imagine a world with more monsters—millions of more monsters. It would never stop. They would be hunting for the rest of their lives, which considering what lay ahead of them probably wouldn't be that long.

Sam swallowed thickly and looked back at Dean, when something caught his eye. The sleeve of his t-shirt was riding up slightly, and Sam could just make out the faint outline of a handprint on his shoulder. The mark that Castiel had left when he'd raised Dean from Hell—when he'd brought his brother back to him.

"Whatever the consequences," Sam began, "we'll deal with them. Together."

Dean turned from the window and looked his brother in the eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. He didn't know if it was the alcohol, but he suddenly felt like everything was going to be okay.

TBC


	3. Be My Savior, and I

**Title**: I Call Out Amidst of All the Fallout (Chapter 3/4)

**Author**: Taya

**Pairings/Characters**: Eventual Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby, Balthazar

**Spoilers**: Up to 6.22. Some plot points are based loosely on future spoilers and comments made by the cast.

**Warnings**: No beta, so all mistakes are my own. Creative use of commas.

**Rating: **R (just to be safe)

**Word Count**: WIP (4300 for this part)

**Author's Note**: The title is from the Steve Carlson song "Love You or Leave You." Jensen wrote the line, "In spite of it all I call out amidst of all the fallout." Steve said it's his favorite line in the song. It's mine as well.

* * *

><p><strong>Summary: <strong>Dean puts his plan to save Castiel into action.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: Be My Savior, and I'll Be Your Downfall<strong>

* * *

><p>"Anything?" Sam asked Dean, as his brother came stomping in from outside. Dean just glared at him and banged the summoning bowl down upon Bobby's desk, before retreating into the kitchen.<p>

"Guess not," Sam said quietly to Bobby.

It had been a couple of weeks since they had decided to try to talk Castiel into falling—"they" being Sam and Dean. Bobby was being deliberately unhelpful. They had tried praying to Cas, praying to Balthazar, and praying to God. No dice. So then they had moved on to summoning spells. Nada.

"I don't know what to do, man," Dean said, returning from the kitchen with a beer in his hand. "I keep calling, and they just keep hitting the 'fuck you' button."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know what else we can do, Dean."

"I gotta few ideas," Bobby mumbled, not looking up from his book.

Sam turned to glare at him, but Dean moved towards the door.

"Where are you goin'?" Sam asked.

"Out," Dean replied. "And I'm not comin' back 'til I have a plan."

And Dean was true to his word.

He returned early the next morning. Sam was still asleep, so he relayed his idea to Bobby. To say that it didn't go over well would probably be the understatement of the century.

Bobby had screamed at him until he was hoarse, and then stormed outside to "blow off some steam".

All of the yelling had woken Sam, who didn't take to Dean's plan much better.

"No fucking way," Sam said loudly.

"Sam…"

"_Dean_, no. I am not letting you do this."

"I don't need you to _let_ me do anything," Dean fired back. "We don't have another option, Sam."

"_This_ isn't an option," yelled Sam. "Dean, I am not going to let you kill yourself just to go talk to Cas!"

"Don't say _just _to go talk to Cas. In case you've forgotten, the fate of the whole freakin' planet depends on me talking to Cas."

Sam just shook his head angrily and turned away from his brother. Dean took a few calming breaths.

"Look, there's no point fightin' about it," he began. "I'm doing this, with or without your help; but it'd probably be a lot safer if you had my back."

Sam turned slowly back to face Dean, a look of sadness in his eyes.

"Sammy, if it was me you know you'd do it in a heartbeat."

Sam couldn't argue with that.

After some time spent thinking it over and even more time spent "blowing off steam" with Bobby, Sam (reluctantly) agreed to help his brother.

At first, Bobby flat-out refused to let them use his panic room for their "suicide mission". However, when he realized that Dean was determined to go through with this no matter what, he conceded that the panic room probably was best.

It didn't take long for Sam and Dean to gather up everything they needed, and by the time the sun had begun to set, the boys were getting everything in order.

Bobby had been giving them the silent treatment all day, and was currently pouting upstairs as Sam and Dean readied the panic room.

"Alright," Dean said, rolling up his sleeve. "Give me forty-eight hours."

"What? No, I said you got one day," Sam complained.

"Okay, thirty-six hours then," said Dean, exasperated. Sam nodded, as he wheeled over the heart monitor. Dean took a seat on the cot.

"Alright. So I'm just gonna pop upstairs, call Balthazar, have him take me to Cas, and then convince Cas to fall," Dean said, shrugging.

"Yeah," Sam said with fake enthusiasm, "It's practically fool-proof."

Dean just glared at him, as Sam pushed him down on the bed and began attaching the monitor.

"What's wrong with it?" asked Dean.

"Where do I start?" Sam replied. "What if you can't get in-touch with Balthazar?"

"Aha," said Dean, smugly. "I thought about that. Remember Ash's angel radar?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he found me pretty quick last time, he could probably do it again; and then he can help me find Cas."

"And once you find Cas, how're you planning on convincing him to fall?"

"You just let me worry about that."

"How are you going to get back?"

"Cas," said Dean. "Or Balthazar." He smirked at his brother, apparently satisfied with his answers. "Anything else, Debbie Downer?"

"What if you don't go to Heaven?"

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but stopped short, raising his eyebrows. "Okay, I think that's enough talk," he said. "Let's do this."

Sam turned and filled a syringe up with morphine.

"Alright," Dean said seriously. "Thirty-six hours. If I'm not back by then, you start prayin'. Cas first. Then Balthazar. Then God."

"And if no one answers?"

Dean sighed. "Then you're just gonna have to get creative. Maybe try Tessa. Or Death. But Sammy…no deals with demons. No selling souls. Got me?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly, staring down at the syringe.

Silence hung heavy in the air.

"Sam, I wouldn't do this if I didn't think it was all going to work out."

Sam nodded again, even though he knew it was a lie, and scooted his stool closer to Dean.

"One more thing," Dean said, propping himself up on his elbows. "After you make sure I'm gone, I want you to get outta here. Go upstairs and wait for me with Bobby."

"Why?"

"Because I know what it's like to sit in a room for thirty-six hours with your dead brother, and I don't want you doing that, okay? So promise me."

Sam looked at his brother sadly. "Okay. Yeah, I promise."

Dean nodded and lay back down. "Alright," he said. "See you soon."

"See you soon," Sam said, and he emptied the syringe into Dean's vein.

* * *

><p>Next thing Dean knew, he was standing in the panic room looking down at his prone form.<p>

"Weird," he said.

"You're telling me."

Dean spun around.

"Tessa," he said, smiling. "We've gotta stop meeting like this."

The reaper did not return his smile.

"Dean, what's going on?"

"One sec," he said, holding up a finger and turning back around.

Sam was just sitting there, staring at the flatline on the heart monitor.

"C'mon Sam," Dean whispered.

Sam let out a long, slow breath, before getting to his feet and leaving the room. Dean let out a breath of his own, and turned back to Tessa.

"What's going on, Dean?" Tessa asked again.

"I need you to take me upstairs so I can speak with the Big Man."

Tessa's eyes widened as she scoffed. "Wow. The ego on you," she said. "First you summon me because you want to talk to Death, and now you're trying to get a one-on-one with _God_?"

"He's not God," Dean said angrily. "He's my friend, and he needs my help. So you can say that killing myself to try and do that is egotistical, but I'm doin' it anyway, so are you going to beam me up or not?"

Tessa let out a frustrated sigh, throwing her arms up as she stepped closer. Dean closed his eyes and felt Tessa's arms wrap around him.

* * *

><p>Dean opened his eyes to find himself sitting in the Impala, <em>Ramblin' Man <em>playing on the radio. The sun was shining brightly and the highway seemed to stretch out infinitely ahead of him.

He kept waiting for it to sink in—that he was dead and in Heaven. Dean didn't feel any different. He let out a sigh as he opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight.

Time to call Balthazar.

"Dean?" Balthazar said before Dean even had the door shut. He spun around to meet the angel, who was standing in the middle of the road.

"Hey. I was just about to call you," Dean greeted. "I need you to take me to Cas."

Balthazar just stared at him, astounded.

"My word," he said, smiling. "You are truly a special brand of crazy." But there was fondness in his voice, and maybe just a hint of admiration.

Dean shrugged. "It's been said," he replied, stepping closer to the angel. "Now, take me to your leader."

* * *

><p>Sam sat quietly on Bobby's couch, staring up at the night sky. He was unaware that Bobby was studying him just as intently.<p>

"You know what I don't get?" Bobby asked, causing Sam to look over at him. "How you can just forgive and forget so easily."

Sam shifted on the couch so that he was facing Bobby fully. He rested his elbows on his knees. "It's not about that," he said. "Cas is a part of Dean's life. He always will be. We're just gonna have to accept that."

"Well I don't know if I can, and you shouldn't have to either," said Bobby. "Sam, you have more of a reason to hate him than any of us."

"I _don't_ hate him," said Sam, shrugging.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because," Sam began quietly, letting his eyes wonder around the room, "it wasn't too long ago that I came _this _close to cutting your throat. Right over there," he pointed.

"That was different," Bobby said stubbornly.

"Yeah," said Sam. "It's always something different. That's my point."

Bobby just shook his head. Sam went on.

"Look, you and me have seen enough in this job to know that sometimes things happen that cause us to do things we wouldn't normally do. Sometimes it's physical—like a bunch of Purgatory souls, or no soul, or demon blood. Or maybe it's something emotional—like losing faith in the one person you thought you could always count on."

Bobby sighed and looked down at his desk.

Sam knew when he had scored a win, and turned back to the window as he let Bobby mull that over.

His face turned towards the stars, Sam offered up a silent prayer, to whoever was listening, for his brother…

…and Cas.

* * *

><p>Dean didn't know what he had expected the House of God to look like, but it certainly wasn't this.<p>

He and Balthazar were standing in a massive garden—the most beautiful garden Dean had ever seen. Soft, green fields stretched out as far as the eye could see, spotted with thousands of cherry blossom trees. Flowers bloomed all around. A million different varieties, of every color. And in the center of it all, a large house that looked like something out of seventeenth century England.

As they approached the house, Dean filled Balthazar in on his plan. The angel listened intently, nodding his head.

"Get Cas to fall," he said. "That's not bad."

"Yeah, except for the monster thing," said Dean.

"Leave that to me," Balthazar said, as they neared the house.

Dean raised his eyebrows questioningly, but Balthazar had come to a halt in front of him.

"Something you should know," he said, turning to face Dean. "He's in pretty bad shape."

"What do you mean?"

"The souls. It's like they're…eating away at him."

Dean felt the blood drain from his face. He swallowed thickly.

"How's he acting?"

"Bipolar," Balthazar stated bluntly. "Emotional."

"Really?" Dean asked. "'Cause last time I saw him, he was a freakin' robot."

Balthazar shook his head. "He's become erratic. Prone to fits of anger, paranoia, or depression. I don't know if it's just the effect the souls are having on him, or if maybe it's our Cas struggling to break free."

The angel turned and continued walking towards the house.

_Please let it be the latter, _Dean thought, as he followed Balthazar.

Upon reaching the door, Balthazar paused with his hand on knob. He took a breath, and turned slowly back to face Dean.

"There is every possibility that these could be our last few moments, and there are things that should be said," Balthazar replied, seriously.

"Oh jeez. We're not really doing last words, are we?"

"Just be quiet, and let me say this," he went on. "When I first met you, I despised your filthy human guts."

"Wow, good start," said Dean, crossing his arms.

"I didn't understand," the angel continued. "I didn't get what he saw in you. Why he was willing to risk everything for you. Why he _did _risk everything for you. I didn't think that you deserved it." Balthazar looked Dean directly in the eyes. "I was wrong."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, as he stared back at Balthazar. He didn't know what to say to that. Thankfully, Balthazar spared him by clapping his hands and turning back to the door.

"Well, that's enough with the 'chick flick' moments. Shall we?" he asked, opening the door and retreating inside.

Dean just smiled and followed him over the threshold. Heaven help him, but he may actually be starting to like the guy.

Once inside, Balthazar led him up two flights of stairs and to a room on the top floor. They paused outside and shared one last glance, before stepping into the doorway.

Cas was standing in front of a large window, his back to them.

Balthazar knocked lightly on the open door.

"Castiel? There's someone here to see you."

Dean felt himself tense up, as Cas turned around to face them.

Balthazar hadn't been lying when he said Cas wasn't doing well. His skin seemed stretched tighter over his slight frame, and it appeared to have a slightly yellow tinge to it. He had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, but the mask he'd been wearing last time Dean saw him was still firmly in place…that is, until he saw who Balthazar had brought with him.

The mask slipped as his eyes settled upon the hunter.

"Dean?" he asked, surprised; and God, he sounded so much like the Cas that Dean knew that it was hard not to get his hopes up that this might actually work.

"Hey Cas," he said, stepping into the room.

Cas just stared back at him, his eyes wide. He looked Dean up and down, like he couldn't believe that he was really here.

"You're dead."

"Yeah," said Dean, offhandedly. "Temporary condition…I hope," he added, glancing back at Balthazar. When he looked back at Cas, the angel had schooled his expression and was staring at Dean coldly.

"Why are you here?" he asked suspiciously.

Dean took a breath and refused to look away from those hard eyes that were oh so familiar.

"I thought about what you said, and well…I'm ready to do it."

Cas tilted his head slightly. "You've decided to profess your love and devotion to me?"

"Yeah," Dean said meekly. "Yes."

Cas raised his eyebrows and inclined his head, clearly telling Dean to 'go ahead then'.

Dean took a breath, and walked towards Cas. He kept walking until he was right up in the angel's personal space. Cas stiffened and looked as if he wanted to take a step back, but he held his ground.

"Cas," Dean said sincerely. "I love you." A muscle twitched in Cas's cheek. "And that's kind of a big deal for me to say," Dean continued. "I've only ever said that to two people my entire adult life—Sammy and my dad—so you should feel pretty special." Cas appeared to be having an emotional tug-of-war going on inside his head. Dean just ploughed on. "As for devotion…I've always been loyal to you, Cas. Whether you realized it or not. I was loyal to you in the beginning, back when you were just a warrior of Heaven. I was loyal to you after you rebelled…to fight beside me."

"Stop it."

"I was loyal to you when you were losing your grace and I was loyal when you were human." Dean went on forcefully. "Hell, I was even loyal to you all last year when you were being a total dick!"

He heard Balthazar groan behind him, but he just kept on.

"Now I'm sorry that I've done a shitty job of showin' it, but I'm here now."

"Dean," Cas warned.

"I would die for you, Cas. Christ, I _have_ died for you!"

"Enough!" bellowed Cas, throwing Dean across the room with a wave of his hand.

Dean hit the ground hard. He hadn't known it was possible to experience pain once you were already dead, but his back was throbbing from its contact with the floor.

When Dean finally managed to drag himself back to his feet, he was surprised to find Cas clutching his head, his eyes shut tightly in pain.

Dean spoke softly, and tried not to let Cas hear the pain in his voice.

"Cas, look at yourself. Those souls are tearing you apart. You gotta get rid of 'em or they're going to kill you, man."

"Don't pretend like that isn't what you want," Cas said as he leaned back against the window, his eyes still closed.

"How could you say that?" Dean asked gently. "I know there's a lot of bad blood between us, but guess what? We're stuck with each other, and I'm not giving up on you. _Look at me_!" yelled Dean. Cas's eyes flew open and he sucked in a breath. Balthazar stepped a little further into the room.

Dean took a calming breath before going on. "Cas, you saved me. Without you, there is no me," he said. "You pulled me outta my Hell, and now I'm gonna pull you outta your's."

Cas shook his head and turned back to the window, but he wasn't seeing the garden below. His brow was wrinkled in confusion, and his breathing had sped up.

"We can fix this, Cas," Dean said, taking a couple of steps closer.

"Don't," pleaded Cas, turning sharply and raising his hand.

Dean stopped and raised his arms in surrender, but kept speaking.

"We can fix it," Dean repeated, "but you have to choose to fall, Cas. You have to become human."

Cas was just shaking his head, staring up at the ceiling. "The things I've done…"

"We've all done shitty things, Cas. It doesn't mean you deserve to die."

Cas looked sharply at Dean. His breathing seemed to have stopped. He was looking at Dean like he was seeing him for the first time. His eyes widened slightly and he tilted his head to the side. Dean felt his heart leap.

"You're dead," Cas said again, only this time with less confusion and more sadness. "You died."

"I had to," said Dean, taking another cautious step forward. "You weren't answering my prayers, and I had to talk to you."

"You shouldn't have done that," Cas said sadly, his breathing increasing once again, as he turned away. "I don't deserve your pity, Dean. I don't deserve your forgiveness. I deserve whatever it is that's going to happen to me."

Dean saw that he was getting close, and pushed ahead.

"You don't get off that easily, you son of a bitch. You fucked up, and now you gotta take responsibility and make things right."

Balthazar shifted nervously next to him.

"I don't deserve the chance to make things right," Cas said quietly.

"Why? Because you've made some mistakes?" Dean asked. "Cas, after all the evil shit that I did in Hell, you still pulled me out. You still thought I had somethin' worth fightin' for. You don't think _you_ deserve to be saved?"

Cas suddenly went very still, his back turned to Dean. Balthazar took a few steps forward, placing himself protectively between Dean and Cas.

Cas turned slowly and stared at Dean. His breathing became shallow and his hands began to shake.

"Cas?" Balthazar asked worriedly.

"Get Dean back home," he said tightly, not taking his eyes off the hunter.

"Whoa, wait a minute," said Dean, making a move towards Cas, but Balthazar stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"What are you going to do?" Balthazar asked Cas.

The brothers shared a long, wordless exchange. Balthazar just nodded, and raised his hand to Dean's head.

"No, wait!"

The last thing Dean saw was a million pin pricks of light growing larger and larger inside of Cas, and then…

…darkness.

* * *

><p>Dean woke with a start in the panic room, alone and gasping for breath. He took a second to get his bearings, before quickly disconnecting himself from the heart monitor, and running out of the panic room and up the stairs.<p>

Dean ignored Bobby and Sam's shouts of surprise, as he ran past them towards the door. He yanked it open, bolted outside, and stopped dead.

The night sky was lit up like a firecracker. Millions of bright lights were descending swiftly to Earth, like falling stars, as far as the eye could see.

"What _is_ that?" Sam asked, behind him.

Dean stared at the sky, horrified.

"It's Cas."

* * *

><p><em>Five Months Later<em>

It was coming on Christmas, but you certainly wouldn't know it from the look of Bobby Singer's home. There was no tree, no lights, no stockings; just piles of newspapers and books scattered all throughout the house. And to say that the holiday spirit was lacking from its three current residents would have been a gross understatement.

True to his word, Balthazar had seized control of Heaven and immediately sent every single angel down to Earth to eliminate the Purgatory souls. They were able to get most of them before they went underground, but the three hunters still found themselves with plenty to do.

Which left Balthazar to search for Cas, while Sam and Dean kept an eye out for any sign of his grace. So far, they had nothing.

Balthazar seemed certain that Cas was still alive, though he couldn't affectively explain to Dean how he knew this.

The angel had been spending all of his time looking for Cas, only popping in to check if the boys had located his grace yet.

_"Maybe if there'd just been one report of a meteorite crashing to Earth that night, I'd have something to go on; but there wasn't just one, there were millions!" yelled Dean, jabbing his finger towards a stack of newspapers._

_Balthazar just huffed in frustration, and flew off._

So when Dean heard a flutter of wings, he didn't even look up from the article he was reading.

"We haven't got it yet," he said, annoyed.

When Balthazar didn't respond after a minute, Dean looked up at him.

The angel was smiling.

"I've found him."

TBC


	4. Forgive Me, Father, For I Have Sinned

**Title**: I Call Out Amidst of All the Fallout (Chapter 4/4)

**Author**: Taya

**Pairings/Characters**: Eventual Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby, Balthazar, OCs.

**Spoilers**: Up to 6.22. Some plot points are based loosely on comments made by the cast.

**Warnings**: No beta, so all mistakes are my own. Creative use of commas. OCs.

**Rating: **R (just to be safe)

**Word Count**: WIP (4900 for this part)

**Author's Note**: The title is from the Steve Carlson song "Love You or Leave You." Jensen wrote the line, "In spite of it all I call out amidst of all the fallout." Steve said it's his favorite line in the song. It's mine as well.

**A/N 2**: I always picture David Strathairn when I think of Father Patrick (the OC). IDK if that helps, or not.

* * *

><p><strong>Summary<strong>: _"I haven't lost my faith…but sometimes you just need a little proof that there's something out there worth having faith in in the first place."_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four: Forgive Me, Father, For I Have Sinned<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em>We haven't got it yet," he said, annoyed. <em>

_When Balthazar didn't respond after a minute, Dean looked up at him._

_The angel was smiling._

"_I've found him."_

* * *

><p><em>Five Months Earlier<em>

_The Church of St. Jude_

_Winchester, Connecticut_

* * *

><p>Father Patrick Gregory was drunk.<p>

Actually, he believed the technical term would be shit-faced.

This in itself was nothing out of the ordinary.

The fifty-two year old priest had long been in the habit of leaving his home and walking the thirty feet to his church next door. He would sit on the ground behind the church, drinking a bottle of wine, and watching the stars.

Only this night, there was something much more interesting to watch than the stars.

"Father Patrick! Come quick! You have to see this!" Sister Margaret's voice called from afar.

Patrick rolled his eyes, as he leaned his head back against the church and took another swallow of wine.

"Yes, Margaret. I see. I see," he slurred quietly to himself, his gaze fixed on the sky.

It was the most incredible meteor shower that Patrick had ever seen. The heavens were alight with a million glowing streaks, blazing a path across the sky. It was truly awe-inspiring.

Proof of the incogitable glory of the Lord.

"Father," called Margaret as she hurried around the side of the church, her face flushed and her breathing labored.

Margaret was a short, plump woman in her late-sixties, and had been working as Patrick's assistant for years.

She ignored the nearly empty bottle of wine, as she pulled Patrick to his feet.

"Father, you have to come. There's a man out front."

Patrick swayed unsteadily on his feet, but the desperation in Margaret's voice helped to sober him a little as he followed her quickly to the front of the church.

The warmth that the alcohol had provided faded as he gazed at the sight before him.

There was a man lying naked in the grass beside the church steps. For a moment, Patrick stood frozen; but then he sprang into action. He knelt down beside the man, and immediately checked for a pulse.

He was alive.

The priest sighed in relief, as he searched the stranger's body for any visible signs of injury. He found none. In fact, the man's skin was nearly flawless. Patrick lifted his eyelids and scanned his bright blue eyes for any sign of head trauma. The man appeared unharmed.

"I'm going to go call 9-1-1," Margaret said, turning towards her house.

"No," said Patrick, stopping her.

"Father-"

"I said no," repeated the priest, standing up and gazing down at the man. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "He didn't go to the hospital. He didn't go to the police. He came here. There has to be a…a reason." Patrick paused, looking up at the church. "A reason," he scoffed, before breaking into a fit of laughter.

Margaret watched him sadly.

Patrick finally got himself under control, and turned to her with a small smile.

"Come on," he said. "Help me get him inside."

Between the two of them, they managed to get the unconscious man inside the church and into a makeshift bedroom situated just left of the entryway.

Once Margaret had gone home, mumbling something about the Father's reckless behavior, Patrick stood for a moment looking down at the stranger.

The warm glow that had filled him earlier as he had gazed upon the meteor shower had vanished. Looking down at this poor man, he just felt cold.

As he turned to leave, he caught the reflection of a painting in the mirror. It was a picture of St. Jude-patron saint of desperate cases and lost causes. Patrick looked at it for a moment, before turning his eyes upon his own reflection.

He looked old. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were lines on his face. His gray hair was sticking up in every direction, and in his hand he still clutched the bottle of wine.

Patrick chuckled as looked at the painting again, and then down at the stranger. He raised the bottle in a mock salute.

"Welcome to the club, my friend," he said, and he drained the rest of the bottle.

As he left the church, Patrick let his eyes wander once more back towards the heavens.

The sky had gone dark.

* * *

><p>The first thing that Castiel noticed upon waking, before he had even opened his eyes, was the silence. Not just the silence of his surroundings, but the silence inside his own head. He could no longer hear the voices of his brothers and sisters. He could no longer feel their presence. The Purgatory souls, which had provided a comforting fulfillment, were also gone.<p>

He was all alone.

For a moment, the loneliness threatened to overwhelm him, but Castiel quickly became aware of other sensations. He could see the sunlight from behind his eyelids; feel it on his face. Something soft was lying atop his body. A blanket? And despite the initial silence, he could now hear birds singing somewhere nearby.

All of these new sensations helped prove to Castiel that he was still alive. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

He opened his eyes, but quickly had to squint; the sun peeking through the blinds was too bright for his newly human eyes.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, Castiel let his gaze wander around the room. There were several religious paintings hanging on the walls, and a small dresser with a mirror sat against the wall opposite the door.

He sat up in the tiny bed, causing the blanket to fall and pool around his waist.

He was naked.

Castiel let his eyes scan the room once more, looking for his clothes-and when exactly he had started thinking of them as _his _clothes, he had no idea-but he didn't see them. It only added to the feeling of loss.

There was, however, a pile of new clothes sitting on the dresser-black dress pants, a black button-up shirt, white socks, and a pair of black tennis shoes.

After dressing, Castiel looked at himself in the mirror.

This was _his _body now.

His arms. His hands. His face. His eyes. He had never thought of this form as his before.

Castiel stared at his reflection for several minutes, before pulling his gaze away and leaving the room.

The church that Castiel walked into was small-a neighborhood church. Fifteen pews led up to a small alter, and a balcony circled above. At the other end of the nave, a man stood upon a ladder, changing a light bulb. He was tall and thin, with a head of gray hair. He was dressed in blue jeans and a dark blue shirt similar to the one the former angel was wearing.

Castiel looked around him.

A church.

He was in a church.

The irony of it caused him to scoff.

The man on the ladder turned at the sound.

"Ah, you're awake. Good," he said, climbing down. "I was starting to worry." The man set the old light bulb on the ground, and made his way towards Castiel. "I didn't call the hospital or the police. I figured there must have been a reason you ended up here."

_A reason, _Castiel thought. _Right._

The man reached Castiel, and put out his hand.

"I'm Father Patrick Gregory," he said, "but please, call me Patrick."

Castiel took his hand. "Castiel."

"The Angel of Thursday," said Patrick, smiling. "Religious parents?"

"You could say that," Castiel replied, releasing the priest's hand and looking around the church.

Patrick continued to smile at the stranger.

"Castiel's quite a mouthful. Do you ever shorten it?"

"No," Castiel said sharply.

"Okay," said Patrick, the smile slipping from his face.

Castiel took a few steps away. "Where are we?"

"This? This is the Church of St. Jude."

"No, I mean what city? State?"

Patrick's brow furrowed, as he regarded Castiel curiously. "Winchester, Connecticut."

Castiel turned and looked back at the priest. He couldn't seem to stop the laugh that bubbled out of him. The sound was so foreign to him, that it caused him to laugh even harder. Patrick watched him apprehensively as Castiel's laughter bordered on hysterical.

"You don't by chance remember how you ended up on the steps of my church do you?" Patrick asked, once Castiel's laughter had died down.

The former angel took a calming breath, as he gazed fixedly at a crucifix on the wall.

"I fell," Castiel said quietly.

"Oh. Are you alright?" Patrick asked, concerned. "I checked you for injuries last night. You didn't seem like you'd been hurt."

It hit Castiel all of a sudden-like a freight train. He was suddenly overcome with emotion. Guilt. Sadness. Loneliness. He had the overwhelming urge to cry, and he hated himself for it.

He turned back to Patrick, with tears in his eyes. That's when he noticed it-a confessional.

"You're a Father of the Catholic faith, yes?"

Patrick nodded. "That's right."

Castiel took another deep breath.

"Would you hear my confession?"

* * *

><p>Once he was seated in the booth, Castiel lifted his eyes to the ceiling.<p>

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

He then proceeded to tell Father Patrick everything. He told him that he had once been an angel of the Lord. He told him about saving Dean Winchester from Hell, and how everything had changed after that. He told him all about the Apocalypse, the civil war in Heaven, and his partnership with the King of Hell. Finally, he told him how he had opened the door to Purgatory.

"…and then I took in all of the souls, and became the new God."

"Alright. That's enough."

Castiel heard commotion from the other booth, as Patrick clamored out. He exited as well, and looked at the other man. Patrick looked angry.

"Look, don't get me wrong. It's a very entertaining story and all, but I'm afraid I can only listen to so much blasphemy without fear of being struck by lightning."

Castiel looked at him sadly.

"You don't believe me."

"That you're an angel who fell from Heaven? No," Patrick said, smiling.

"You don't believe in angels?"

"Of course I believe in angels."

"Then why is it so difficult to believe that I used to be one?"

"Well, where's your proof?" asked Patrick, waving his hand towards Castiel.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the priest. "I thought you were a man of faith?"

"I _am _a man of faith," Patrick replied defensively, crossing his arms. He stared at Castiel angrily, and Castiel just stared back. Patrick threw his arms up in the air. "Look, as far as I'm concerned, I've played the Good Samaritan and I'm done. I think it's about time you went home," he said, as he turned to walk away.

"I don't have a home," Castiel said quietly, causing Patrick to look back. He looked so lost that the priest felt his anger begin to ebb away. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

Patrick looked away and sighed. He stared at the light coming in from the stained-glass windows, as he contemplated this strange situation that he had somehow gotten himself into. After several moments, he looked back at Castiel.

"I can't listen to anymore crazy," he said bluntly.

"You won't have to."

"And you'll have to help out around the church, and with some volunteer work in the community."

"Of course."

Patrick just looked at Castiel curiously. "Alright then," he said. "You can stay."

The look of pure relief on Castiel's face twisted Patrick's heart.

"Thank you," he said, and the priest could tell how much he meant it.

* * *

><p>In the following weeks, Castiel helped out a lot around St. Jude's. He would lay out hymnals before services, assist Margaret in folding and sending out the church newsletter, and help keep the building in good working condition.<p>

However, once Patrick learned of his affluence of languages, he recruited Castiel to help him with translating some ancient religious texts from their original Hebrew-a project he'd been slowly working on for years.

For the first few days, Castiel had taken his meals by himself in his room, but Patrick soon invited him over to his home to eat. Castiel had gratefully accepted, thankful to be spending less time alone. Patrick had just shrugged, saying that he was simply saving himself a trip.

Patrick had also offered to let Castiel sleep in his spare room. He had refused. Castiel liked the church. He would leave his room late at night and sit in one of the pews. He would just sit there, listening to the silence, trying to hear his brothers…his father.

Patrick was becoming more and more intrigued by Castiel. He was obviously highly educated, judging by the number of languages he knew and his knowledge of world religions; but he was quiet around strangers, and socially awkward.

Oh yeah, and he thought he was an angel.

He had, however, begun to open up to Patrick more and more. Nothing personal though. Not since the confessional incident. They mostly spoke about religion, sometimes getting into vigorous debates, which Castiel always seemed to win.

Patrick constantly found himself wondering where this man had come from. Sometimes it was almost easy to believe that he had fallen from the sky.

* * *

><p>Father Patrick Gregory was drunk.<p>

This in itself was nothing out of the ordinary.

Castiel had gotten into the habit of taking late-night walks around the church before turning in for the evening. Several times he had stumbled upon the priest sitting behind the church, halfway through a bottle of wine. Most of the time, Castiel would acknowledge him with a simple nod, and keep walking; but tonight the former angel was feeling particularly lonely, and had sought out Patrick's company.

"I certainly hope that isn't the Communion wine," Castiel said, as he approached the priest.

Patrick smiled up at him. "Would it make you feel any better if I said that it wasn't?"

Castiel sat down on the ground beside him, and Patrick passed him the bottle without hesitation. For awhile, the two of them drank in silence, before Castiel turned to look at the priest.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot," replied Patrick, taking a drink of the wine.

"What is it that caused you to lose your faith?" Castiel asked hesitantly.

Patrick went still, staring at the bottle. "What makes you think I've lost my faith?"

Castiel took the bottle from him. "I believe the phrase is "it takes one to know one"," he replied, taking a long pull from the bottle.

Patrick chuckled quietly, as he looked over at his companion. "And what is it that you've lost faith in, Castiel?"

Castiel stared down at the bottle of wine for a moment. "Everything," he answered. "God. Heaven. Myself." _Dean._

Patrick looked at Castiel for a moment, before taking the bottle back. "My dad and I used to do this all the time-sit outside and watch the stars. Whenever my faith would fail me, he would always take me out into our backyard at night and point to the sky. He would talk about the infinite numbers of stars and the vastness of the universe, and it suddenly became extraordinarily easy to believe there was a God out there watching over me."

Patrick took another drink and continued on. "I was sitting out here four weeks ago. I was pondering the "Big Question". You know…why do bad things happen to good people? It's the type of question that can drive a man insane-drive him to drink," he laughed, holding up the bottle. "I came to the conclusion that either God was sadistic, he just didn't give a shit, or he wasn't out there at all.

"And that's when it happened. The sky just lit up. Out of nowhere, thousands of lights, streaking across the darkness. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. It's impossible _not _to feel the glory of God when you're watching something like that-impossible _not_ to feel him present in your very soul."

Patrick started laughing. He started laughing, and he couldn't stop.

"And then I found you on my doorstep," the priest said, patting Castiel affectionately on the knee. "Cold, naked, and alone. And you wanna know why?" Patrick asked, no longer laughing. "Because God doesn't give a damn about you, Castiel. He doesn't care about _you_. He doesn't care about _me_. He doesn't care about anybody. Not personally, anyway."

Patrick fell silent, as he drained the rest of the bottle. Castiel watched him sadly, and tried to ignore how those words pierced his heart.

"You still haven't answered my question," he said quietly.

Patrick gazed silently at the empty bottle in his hands.

"My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was thirty. I prayed everyday. Every _single _day. It didn't make a difference. She died two years later.

"A year after that, my dad put a shotgun in his mouth. He had left me a note on his kitchen table, telling me not to go in the garage. Of course, I did anyway."

Patrick leaned his head back against the church, and stared up at the stars.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to lose the one person you thought you could always count on?"

Castiel didn't answer. He probably couldn't have even if he'd wanted to. He simply stared quietly out into the darkness.

The two men were silent for a long time. When Patrick finally resumed speaking, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Four months ago I hit a kid with my car," he said, staring off into space. "I wasn't drinking, I just…it was dark. His bike came out of nowhere. I jumped out of the car. He was in pretty bad shape.

"I didn't have a phone, so I checked for his." Patrick broke off and chuckled humorlessly. "I mean, what kind of sixteen year old doesn't carry a fucking cell phone?" he asked, slightly hysterical.

"I screamed for help, but no one came. All I could do was hold him and pray. I closed my eyes, and I begged God to help me. But God wasn't there. That boy was all alone, with no one to comfort him. Not his mother. Not his father. Not even his God." Patrick took a deep breath, as he tried to quell his emotions. "And he died in the arms of the son of a bitch who hit him."

Patrick threw the wine bottle as hard as he could, before struggling to his feet. Once he had steadied himself, he looked down at Castiel.

"I haven't lost my faith, Castiel," he said, "but sometimes you just need a little proof that there's something out there worth having faith in in the first place."

And with that, Patrick walked away, leaving Castiel sitting alone in the dark.

* * *

><p>The following morning, Castiel decided not to go over to Patrick's for breakfast like he normally did, assuming that the priest would want to sleep in.<p>

Later that day, Castiel was working on translating some text in the small office inside the church, when Patrick knocked lightly and came inside.

"I wanted to apologize for last night," he said, taking a seat across the desk from Castiel and giving him a small smile. "Wine, unfortunately, has that effect on me."

"There's no need to apologize," Castiel told him. "I actually found it quite illuminating."

Patrick chuckled. "Really? How's that?"

Castiel set down his pen, and looked the priest in the eyes.

"I've been thinking a lot about faith," he said. "As long as I can remember, I've always had faith in something—God, my family…Dean." He swallowed thickly. "I don't like not having faith. I want to find it again, but I need your help."

Patrick quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Um…you must not have been paying attention last night…"

"I just need somewhere to start," Castiel told him.

Patrick leaned back in his chair, and simply began throwing out suggestions—mission trips, joining the priesthood, a vow of silence.

"Vow of silence?" Castiel asked, intrigued. "How does that work?"

"I think it's pretty straightforward. You just stop talking," said Patrick. "Something about the silence making it easier for you to hear God or something."

Castiel nodded. "When would I resume speaking?"

"Whenever something in your soul compels you to do so."

Castiel was quiet for a long time, as he stared out the window. Finally, he looked back at Patrick, smiling. The he picked up his pen, and got back to work.

Patrick let his chair fall back to the floor. "Wait, are you starting _now_?"

Castiel nodded once, as he continued translating.

Patrick just laughed. "Well, alright then."

* * *

><p>Nothing really changed all that much over the next few months. Patrick and Castiel still took their meals together; still worked together. Only now they did so in silence; and Patrick never made any attempt to fill it. In fact, he actually found it quite comforting.<p>

* * *

><p>One morning, the two men were working in the office, when Patrick decided to run next door and get them something to eat. He was at the church doors, when the sound of rustling leaves caused him to turn around.<p>

Standing in the middle of the church was a tall man with blonde hair, wearing some of the tightest clothes Patrick had ever seen. He looked as if he belonged more at a nightclub than a Catholic church.

"Ah, Padre. Good. I was wondering if you could help me," the stranger said as he approached. He had a thick accent.

"Uh…yes?" asked Patrick, curiously.

"I'm looking for my brother. He's about ye high, with blue eyes and bed head. Answers to the name Castiel."

"Castiel?" Patrick said suspiciously. "He's your _brother_?"

"So he's here?" the man asked excitedly, looking relieved. "I knew I should have been looking at churches all along. I mean, what more appropriate place for a fallen angel, am I right?"

Patrick narrowed his eyes.

"Wait a minute," he said, stepping forward. "What is this, some sort of scam?"

The stranger raised his eyebrows at him.

"Look, I don't know what you're going on about, but I need to see Cas. Right now."

"No way," Patrick said sternly. "I don't know who you were to Castiel, but he's left his old life. He's been living and working here. He's taken a vow of silence in order to get closer to God. And I'm not just going to let you come in here and-"

"Enough!" the other man bellowed, and Patrick could have sworn he saw the lights flicker. "I want to see my brother. _Right…now._" This time, the lights went out completely. Lightning flashed from somewhere, and the shadows of two massive wings stretched across the church walls. Patrick stepped back, startled. "Please," the stranger added with a tight smile.

Patrick pointed a shaking hand at the office door.

"Thank you," the man said, moving past the priest. "Vow of silence, did you say?"

Patrick nodded mutely.

"Hmm…well, that should make things considerably easier."

Then the stranger disappeared into the office, leaving a shaken Patrick in his wake.

* * *

><p>Castiel looked up when he heard the door open and close, and then he froze.<p>

Balthazar was standing there, a look of pure relief on his face. Castiel felt a dozen different emotions at once.

"Thank God," Balthazar said, stepping further into the room. "Are you alright? I've been worried sick."

Castiel opened his mouth, and gestured to it with his hand.

"Oh yes, you're friend told me about your vow," said the angel. "I'm afraid I may have terrified the poor fellow."

Castiel raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Well, he wouldn't tell me where you were. So…I had to introduce him to Castor and Pollex," Balthazar said, jerking his thumbs over his shoulders. "Anyway…let's get going."

He stepped towards his brother, but Castiel took a step backward, shaking his head.

Balthazar let out a frustrated sigh.

"Look, if this is about Dean…"

Castiel shook his head again, and shot Balthazar a hard look. Dean was not a subject that he wanted to discuss.

He moved away from his brother, and sat on the couch.

"Look, Cas…there's no need for you to do anymore penance. All's forgiven," Balthazar told him. "But we need to go. There are monsters to kill, grace to find…"

Castiel just sat there, staring at his hands. Balthazar watched him for a moment, before moving to sit beside him.

"You're not coming back, are you?" he asked. Castiel shook his head, and looked at his brother sadly. Balthazar sighed, and looked away for a moment, before getting to his feet.

Castiel stood up as well, and grabbed the angel's arm before he could turn away. There was so much that he wanted to say to his big brother, but he couldn't. So he just looked him in the eyes, and hoped that he would understand.

_I'm sorry. _

_Forgive me. _

_I love you._

Balthazar understood.

He smiled warmly at Castiel, and pulled his head down in order to place a kiss on his temple.

Then he disappeared.

Castiel was suddenly hit with an overwhelming loneliness that threatened to bring him to his knees. He closed his eyes tight, and tired to focus on the good.

Balthazar forgave him.

It was a start.

Smiling, Castiel walked out into the nave.

Patrick was at the other end of the church, kneeling in front of a statue that he was pretty sure was supposed to represent his brother Gabriel. The priest's head was bowed, and he was deep in prayer.

Castiel's smile broadened, as he turned to go back into the office.

It looked like they both had had some of their faith restored that day.

* * *

><p><em>Christmas Eve<em>

Patrick had been gone for two days; since the day Balthazar had arrived.

He had poked his head into the office and mumbled something about going to Hartford for a couple of days. He hadn't met Castiel's eyes, but said that he would be back before the midnight mass.

Castiel knew that Patrick's family lived in Hartford, and that his parents were buried there. He took it as a good sign that the priest was reaching out to his family.

It was getting late in the evening, and Castiel was helping Margaret decorate the church for midnight mass.

He had just finished stringing up the last of the Christmas lights, before stepping out into the center of the church and giving Margaret a thumbs up.

She disappeared from her position in the balcony, and a minute later the church was plunged into darkness.

Then the Christmas lights came on.

Castiel had never understood humans' fascination with Christmas; but now, standing in the center of all of the multi-colored lights, it suddenly made sense to him.

The lights were reflected off the smooth surface of the pews, and Christmas music floated through the air.

It was incredibly beautiful, and he couldn't help but smile.

Behind him, Castiel heard the church doors open, and turned around. There, standing in the soft glow of the Christmas lights, snowflakes swirling around him, was…

"Dean?" Cas said gruffly, his voice rough from lack of use.

"Thank God," Dean said, rushing forward and enveloping his friend in a tight embrace. Cas's arms automatically wrapped around him.

"Dean," he said again, his eyes wide.

"Balthazar kept saying you were alive," Dean went on. "I wanted to believe him so bad, but he didn't have any proof."

Cas made a small sound, and clung to Dean even tighter. "Dean."

Dean just laughed.

"Dean, I'm so sor-"

"Shh," he interrupted, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against Cas's. "Don't…just, be quiet for a minute."

Cas obeyed, but he didn't want to be quiet. He had so much that he wanted to say, and he'd been quiet for far too long.

Neither of them knew exactly how long they stood like that, in the gentle glow of the lights, breathing one another's breaths.

Finally, Dean pulled away, clearing his throat and giving Cas a manly slap on the shoulder.

"Alright," he said, turning for the door. "Let's get goin'."

Cas followed him. Of course he followed him. It didn't even occur to him not to.

"Where?" he asked, though it didn't really matter.

Dean was already out the doors and down the steps, but the answer that he shouted back rang out clearly through the wind and the snow.

"Home."

TBC


End file.
